Whipped Cream
by WritingPurple
Summary: It's Mother's Day, and Freddie mobilizes the Benson army to prepare something for Sam. Sam/Freddie.


**A/N: **So it's Mother's Day, and after iPear Store I had all the Seddie feels, so... bam. Fluffy future!Seddie fic for Mother's Day.

There is a very slight crossover element to this, but it's not integral to the enjoyment of the story (imo), so I didn't bother tagging it as such. Basically all you need to know is that there's a character on How To Rock named Stevie, and a subsection of the fandom considers her Sam and Freddie's future kid. Stevie has four older brothers. Hence, Sam and Freddie's small army of children in this fic. There you go.

(Um, quick endorsement though, HTR is adorable and Stevie is flawless. And Stevie and Zander rival Sam and Freddie on not knowing what personal space is. Anyway. Onward!)

* * *

It's a Sunday, and Sam never gets up on her own until at least noon if she can help it, so he doesn't bother waking the kids until ten.

Stevie, the youngest (and the only girl), is the first one to get out of bed, following him around from room to room as he wakes up the boys, underfoot like an excited puppy. She proves to be an effective tool for rousing her brothers, clambering all over them and jumping up and down on their beds. The oldest, Benedict, she smothers with kisses, and he grabs her and puts her in a headlock and noogies her until she squeals. Then Freddie has to break it up, because he doesn't want Stevie's screeching waking Sam early.

Once he's amassed their small army (_do they really have _five_ kids_? he wonders sleepily as he scratches the back of his head) he marches them to the kitchen. Food is never a bad gift option for Sam, and after last year when she wound up allergic to the tulips Stevie talked him into buying he's decided to play it safe for a while. Stevie leads the charge, darting to the refrigerator and pulling out the huge pack of assorted foreign bacons they had kept skillfully hidden in the bottom of the vegetable crisper (a place Sam never ventures unless she reaches a certain kind of desperate, and Freddie had kept the fridge well-stocked to make sure that didn't happen).

"I'll make the bacon!" she declares, too-loud, and all the boys shush her at once. Freddie walks over to her, kneeling down and taking the package from her. He feels a sort of wistfulness at noticing that her fingers are starting to slim out and lose their baby fat.

"Steves, I've got a different job for you, okay?" he tells her, because there's not a chance in hell he's letting his five year old near a stove. Handing the bacon off to Benedict, he takes her hand and leads her into the living room, where he's laid out some blank paper and a box of crayons on the coffee table. "Can you make a card for mommy, and we'll all sign it?"

"Are the boys making the card too?"

"No, the boys are helping me cook."

"The boys always get to cook. _I_ want to cook."

Her face is set the way it gets when she's feeling particularly stubborn, bottom lip sticking out as far as it will go, and he knows he needs to run damage control, fast. "Hey, can I tell you a secret?"

"What?" She eyes him suspiciously.

Brushing some of her soft, fine hair behind one ear (she squirms and giggles despite herself), he leans in and whispers, "The card is the most important part."

"More important than _food_?"

Freddie nods solemnly.

Stevie sticks a finger in her mouth, deep in thought. Finally, without a word, she turns and bounces over to the table. Freddie sighs, relieved.

By the time he makes it back to the kitchen Benedict has already managed to burn the Bolivian bacon. They wrap the burnt bacon in a paper towel and bury it in the trash can and promise not to speak of it to Sam. (Secretly, Freddie's glad, because even though neither of them have seen Noseby Moseby since high school he'd rather not serve Sam food so strongly tied to an ex-boyfriend.) He does warn the boys, though, that any more burned food is coming out of their allowance. They're more careful after that; Benedict enlists Adrian to help him watch the bacon and the two of them manage to keep things under control. Freddie helps the younger two boys make up a bowl of pancake batter, and at the last minute decides to throw in some blueberries. As the boys take turns stirring, Freddie takes the leftover berries to Stevie. She uses her free hand to shove fistfuls of berries in her mouth, the juice staining her fingers and lips bright purple. He immediately regrets his decision. At least all she's wearing is one of Adrian's old shirts (lately she's taken to nicking the boys' shirts and using them for pajamas), which has likely seen worse than blueberry hands.

They make up a huge batch of pancakes and set aside the biggest five for Sam. Freddie pulls out syrup, whipped cream, powdered sugar, and sprinkles, instructing the boys to each "decorate" a pancake while he goes in to check on the progress of Stevie's card.

She holds it up with a proud "ta-da!" as he walks in the room. It's clutched in her blueberry-eating hand, so the bottom is crinkled and smudged with indigo fingerprints. He takes the lopsided card carefully from her. There's a stick figure featured prominently on the front boasting a mop of yellow squiggles - Sam, obviously. Inside are more blueberry smears and the word "mom" is scrawled in all caps. Underneath is "Stevie," in letters nearly as big. (Freddie laughs when he realizes the "s" is backwards, and everything is capitalized except the "i.") The whole card is adorned with random squiggles of every color imaginable.

"Beautiful," he declares, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, and she beams. "Come on, you get to decorate a pancake too."

The younger two boys load up their pancakes so high with whipped cream and sprinkles that Sam will have to dig to reach pancake (Freddie knows Sam will appreciate it). Adrian's is more precise and measured - carefully drizzled syrup, an even dusting of powdered sugar, and a nice spiral of whipped cream, all lightly topped with sprinkles. Benedict coats his pancake in powdered sugar and uses the syrup to write out "mom" in looping letters.

When Stevie gets ahold of her pancake, she immediately attempts to dump an entire container of sprinkles on it. Freddie grabs it away from her just in time and proceeds to help her with her decorating process while the boys all write their names on the card Stevie made. ("You draw this yourself, Stevie-Stevie-Bo-Bevie?" Benedict asks, scooping a dollop of whip cream off one of the pancakes and touching it to her nose. She giggles even while she puts her hands on her hips in an attempt at indignation. Freddie grabs a napkin and cleans her face. He scrubs at her purple hand, too, but all he manages to do is fade it to more of a fuchsia. Close enough.)

As soon as everyone's done, Freddie glances at the clock. Eleven-eighteen. Close enough. For the finishing touch, he pulls out a can of cherry pie filling, opens it up, and sticks a fork in it. Managing to carry the plate of bacon, Stevie's card, and the pie filling all at once, he leads the kids to Sam, each of them carrying in the pancake they decorated on a separate plate. The six of them crowd into the room. Stevie and the younger boys are giggling. Benedict has one hand behind his back, but when Freddie raises his eyebrows at him he just winks.

"Ready guys?" Freddie whispers, and all the kids nod. "In five, four, three, two…."

"Happy Mother's Day!" the kids all chorus, at the top of their lungs.

There's silence. Then Sam lets out a snore.

The boys burst into laughter. Freddie just shakes his head. Stevie hands off her plate to Adrian and hauls herself up on the bed. "Mommy! Mommy!" she shrieks, bouncing around the bed. "Wake up!" When this fails to provoke any response, she crawls over to Sam's head, pushing hair away from her ear clumsily. "There's police at the door," she whispers in Sam's ear.

Sam jerks awake, narrowly avoiding slamming her head into Stevie's nose as she sits up. "I didn't do anything!"

"Happy Mother's Day!" everyone choruses a second time. Sam looks around, vaguely bewildered for a moment. Then her face splits into a grin.

"Is all that food for mama?" she asks.

"Yep!" Stevie chirps, flinging herself onto Sam's back and wrapping her arms around her neck. Sam reaches around, pulls Stevie in front of her to tickle her, and Stevie shrieks delightedly and squirms and tries to push Sam's hands away. Sam grabs one of her hands, examines it.

"Child, what did you do to your hand?" she asks. "And your shirt?"

"_My_ shirt," Adrian corrects with a sigh.

"We made pancakes!" Freddie interrupts, because the whipped cream on some of them is starting to liquefy a little bit.

The kids take turns presenting her with their pancakes, from youngest to oldest. She tousles Stevie's hair, complements the younger boys on knowing "just how mama likes her pancakes," tells Adrian that he's "a nerd, just like his dad" (with a wink to both to show she's _mostly_ kidding). When Benedict hands her his pancake, she raises her eyebrows.

"A little stingy with the whipped cream there, Benny?"

A wicked smile crosses Benedict's face. "Oh, you're right. Let me just get that for you."

Before anyone can react, he's pulling a can of whipped cream from behind his back, aiming it straight at Sam, spraying it straight at her face. Freddie's eyes get huge and the boys collapse into laughter and Stevie jumps around at Benedict's feet shouting, "I want a turn, I want a turn!"

Sam just laughs and licks her lips. "Well played, boy, well played." She scoops a glob of whipped cream into her hand, examines it for a second, and then flings it in Benedict's direction.

Freddie has to scramble to get all the pancakes out of the way as things quickly degenerate into an all-out whipped cream war. The end result of it is an empty can of whipped cream, five very messy kids, and a rather sticky bedroom. Sam has whipped cream caked into her hair and smeared all over her face. Everyone's laughing so hard, though, and Sam looks so delighted, that Freddie can't find it in him to be annoyed about the fact that he's now going to have to scrub down the entire room.

He sends the kids out into the yard to hose off (it's warm, they'll be fine). Once they're out of the room, he climbs up onto the bed beside Sam. There's nowhere that isn't covered in whipped cream, so he gives in and just sits in a glob of it.

"Your food's cold now," he tells her.

"Since when has that ever stopped me?" she asks, and he laughs. She scoops some whipped cream off her pillow, reaching up to rub it in his hair and on his face. He tries to jerk back out of range, to no avail.

"What was that for?"

"Now you need a shower."

"Yeah, I figured that out myself, thanks."

A grin spreads across her face. "I need a shower, too."

Freddie glances down the hall. There are shrieks coming from the yard that sound suspiciously like Stevie. "The kids-"

"-will keep themselves entertained for a while," she finishes for him, sliding off the bed. She walks around to his side, tugs on his hand. "Come on. Mama needs someone to wash all this out of her hair. I shouldn't have to do it myself. It's Mother's Day."

He rolls his eyes, but lets her pull him toward the bathroom. "Happy Mother's Day, Sam," he says just before they go through the door, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. She turns, pulling him toward her and pressing her lips to his with crushing force. By the time she pulls back, he's seeing stars. He's not sure if that's from the impact or just from kissing her. It's hard to tell with Sam sometimes.

"Now get in there," she says, yanking him into the bathroom and giving him a shove toward the shower.

He doesn't need to be told twice.


End file.
